Figure to yourself all the contradictions, all the inconsistencies possible, and you may meet with them in the government, the courts of justice, the churches, and the public spectacles of this odd nation.""Is it true", said Candide, "that the people of Paris are always laughing?""Yes", replied the abbe, "but it is with anger in their hearts; they express all their complaints by loud bursts of laughter, and commit the most detestable crimes with a smile on their faces.""Who was that great overgrown beast", said Candide, "who spoke so ill to me of the piece with which I was so much affected, and of the players who gave me so much pleasure?""A very good-for-nothing sort of a man I assure you", answered the abbe, "one who gets his livelihood by abusing every new book and play that is written or performed; he dislikes much to see anyone meet with success, like eunuchs, who detest everyone that possesses those powers they are deprived of; he is one of those vipers in literature who nourish themselves with their own venom; a pamphlet-monger.""A pamphlet-manger!" said Candide, "what is that?""Why, a pamphlet-manger", replied the abbe, "is a writer of pamphlets-a fool."Candide, Martin, and the abbe of Perigord argued thus on the staircase, while they stood to see the people go out of the playhouse.
"Though I am very anxious to see Miss Cunegonde again", said Candide, "yet I have a great inclination to sup with Miss Clairon, for I am really much taken with her."The abbe was not a person to show his face at this lady's house, which was frequented by none but the best company.
"She is engaged this evening", said he, "but I will do myself the honor to introduce you to a lady of quality of my acquaintance, at whose house you will see as much of the manners of Paris as if you had lived here for forty years."Candide, who was naturally curious, suffered himself to be conducted to this lady's house, which was in the suburbs of Saint-Honore.
The company was engaged at basser; twelve melancholy punters held each in his hand a small pack of cards, the corners of which were doubled down, and were so many registers of their ill fortune. A profound silence reigned throughout the assembly, a pallid dread had taken possession of the countenances of the punters, and restless inquietude stretched every muscle of the face of him who kept the bank; and the lady of the house, who was seated next to him, observed with lynx's eyes every play made, and noted those who tallied, and made them undouble their cards with a severe exactness, though mixed with a politeness, which she thought necessary not to frighten away her customers. This lady assumed the title of Marchioness of Parolignac. Her daughter, a girl of about fifteen years of age, was one of the punters, and took care to give her mamma a hint, by signs, when any one of the players attempted to repair the rigor of their ill fortune by a little innocent deception.
The company were thus occupied when Candide, Martin, and the abbe made their entrance; not a creature rose to salute them, or indeed took the least notice of them, being wholly intent upon the business at hand.
"Ah!" said Candide, "My Lady Baroness of Thunder-ten-tronckh would have behaved more civilly."However, the abbe whispered in the ear of the Marchioness, who half raising herself from her seat, honored Candide with a gracious smile, and gave Martin a nod of her head, with an air of inexpressible dignity. She then ordered a seat for Candide, and desired him to make one of their party at play; he did so, and in a few deals lost near a thousand pieces; after which they supped very elegantly, and everyone was surprised at seeing Candide lose so much money without appearing to be the least disturbed at it. The servants in waiting said to each other, "This is certainly some English lord."The supper was like most others of its kind in Paris. At first everyone was silent; then followed a few confused murmurs, and afterwards several insipid jokes passed and repassed, with false reports, false reasonings, a little politics, and a great deal of scandal. The conversation then turned upon the new productions in literature.
"Pray", said the abbe, "good folks, have you seen the romance written by a certain Gauchat, Doctor of Divinity?""Yes", answered one of the company, "but I had not patience to go through it. The town is pestered with a swarm of impertinent productions, but this of Dr. Gauchat's outdoes them all. In short, I was so cursedly tired of reading this vile stuff that I even resolved to come here, and make a party at basset.""But what say you to the archdeacon T-'s miscellaneous collection", said the abbe.
"Oh my God!" cried the Marchioness of Parolignac, "never mention the tedious creature! Only think what pains he is at to tell one things that all the world knows; and how he labors an argument that is hardly worth the slightest consideration! how absurdly he makes use of other people's wit!
how miserably he mangles what he has pilfered from them!
